


The Aesir Prince

by OkieDokieLoki



Series: Sons of the Nine [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Battle Scenes, Depression, Falling In Love, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, M/M, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, References to Sex, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Slow Build, Soul-Searching, minor language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkieDokieLoki/pseuds/OkieDokieLoki
Summary: The second installment of the Sons of the Nine series, this time told primarily from Thor's perspective. After Loki flees Asgard and Odin's oppressive rulings, he had no idea how his absence effects his family and the realm. Thor, realizing that Loki means something far more to him that he'd ever imagined, sets out to find him and bring him home.**Please read the tags before reading! It's not all sunshine and rainbows





	The Aesir Prince

He had never thought that he would miss his younger brother. He had always found the navy being to be like his shadow, following him around or always around the corner: ever present and annoying. Now that he was gone, he longed for the Jotunn’s constant presence. The halls seemed almost silent with the lack of his brother hiding amongst them.

The worst part was that his mother was deeply mourning the loss of her youngest child. She had taken it hard when his father had tried to marry Loki off to a stranger. Now that her Jotunn son had run away to Norns knew where, she was distraught. She spent hours in her garden, pruning bushes that didn’t need to be pruned and watering them with her tears. Balder and Nanna were equally despondent, sitting quietly and downcast at meals and retreating to their rooms otherwise. It was as if the Jotunn had died, not simply vanished to Norns’ knew where.

In fact, the only person who was not overly upset by the loss of Loki was Odin. Not to say that Odin wasn’t effected - he was. He simply was furious and fuming, not afraid or worried. He seemed to constantly complain about the fact that the Jotunn runt that he had taken home on a whim had broken not one but _two_ marriage treaties that would have solidified peace between Asgard and another realm, be it Midgard or Vanaheim. It was difficult to be around him for more than a few moments at a time, his anger hanging over him like a dark cloud, so he found as many excises as possible to retreat from his presence for anywhere else.

“Mother,” he murmured, walking through the gardens towards the bent form of the Queen of Asgard. “Can I help with anything?”

The woman didn’t seem to hear him, so he came closer, kneeling beside her in the dirt. Her hands were covered in mud, the dark brown earth had sunk under her fingernails as they frantically scrambled about the trunk of a burning bush pulling at imaginary weeds.

“Mother?” he queried, his voice soft with worry. The woman didn’t respond. He slowly reached out, his hand shaking hesitantly before coming to rest on hers.

Frigga jumped. “Norns,” the woman hissed, her bloodshot eyes flashing to his face, tears still clinging to her lashes. “Thor?”

“Mother,” he whispered, trying to smile against the shock at the woman’s state, “You should come inside.”

“Whuh-why?” she asked, sniffling before brightening infinitesimally. “Is Loki home?”

He shook his head, squeezing her hand firmly. “Not yet. I’m sure he’s fine and he’ll come home soon…You should come inside. You’ve been outside for over a week. Not sleeping, not eating.”

Her lips quivered as she pressed them together. Her grey eyes lost focus, turning from his face and back to her charge. “I love this bush,” she stated, smiling at the vibrant leaves. “It’s the same color as Loki’s eyes. Those eyes always looked to me for help, for guidance…The last time I saw them, they were so upset. Betrayed.” She began crying once more. “I’m a horrible mother!”

He wrapped her into a hug. “You are a _wonderful_ mother. _The best_. Loki knows that and he won’t hold what Father wants him to do against you. He loves you. More than any of the rest of us.”

His mother cried a bit longer, clinging to him, her dirty fingers grasping his tunic as if it were the only thing keeping her on this planet. In some ways, he probably was. Her only-born child in a marriage that had seemed loving and was crumbling to pieces over the adopted son that was more like her than he could ever be. If holding his perfect and wonderful mother in his arms until she was comforted helped her, then he’d do it until he couldn’t feel his arms anymore.

“Thor.” His mother’s voice was rough and dehydrated. It hurt his heart. “I’m ready.”

“Okay,” he breathed softly, rising and helping his mother to stand. Her legs trembled like those of a newborn calf. “Let’s get you inside.”

The woman’s hands gripped his arms tightly, leaning on him for support. He wrapped an arm about her waist and took most of her body weight, steering them both into the palace’s golden shade. Their steps were labored and staggering, Frigga being less than helpful in their progress.

Finally, he got her into her rooms and onto a settee. “Here you go, Mother,” he breathed gently, placing her hands in her lap before easing her feet onto the rich upholstery. He eased her slippers from her feet and tossed them, mud and all, towards the door. “Let’s get you washed up, all we?”

Her head, all of her intricate braids frizzy and frazzled, gave a small, tired nod. He filled her basin with warm water and, with a delicate cloth, washed the grime from her hands and cleaned the salty trails from her cheeks. “There,” he smiled, trying not to think about how strange it was to have their roles so reversed. “Feel better?”

The golden head shook. Her piercing grey eyes found his own and one of her damp, clean hands reached up and grabbed his cheek in that intimate gesture that he had taken for granted for so much of his life. “Thor. You have to find Loki. Please. Bring him home.”

Unable to stop himself, he consented. “I will, Mother. I swear to you, I will.”

_ _ _ _

“What do you mean, it’s gone?”

The question, raised by Odin before a full audience, caused his stomach to sink. He knew who had taken the Casket of Ancient Winters. There was only one person that had access to the artifact that wouldn’t have gone through the All-Father first.

_Norns, Loki…what are you doing?_

“When Sven and I arrived to relieve the guards, they were sleeping. The doors were secured but the Casket, my King, is gone.” The guard bowed deeply, hiding his face against the All-Father’s growing rage.

Odin’s single eyes flashed. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, “Loki.”

No one said anything and Thor found himself shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. His eyes remained focused on his hands unable to meet his father’s eye.

“Nothing else is gone? Everything else is in order?” the Ruler of Asgard barked at the guard.

“Everything else is as you left it, my King,” the man said, still bowed towards the ground.

He heard the slow, intense inhale of Odin, King of the Gods, and his stomach sank. A proclamation, made in anger, was coming.

“ _Prince Loki_ is not welcome here any more. If anyone sees the _Laufeyson_ , he is to be brought - in chains - to me. Is that understood?”

Thor inhaled sharply, his head shooting up at the words that flowed over him. _Not welcome? Laufeyson? Chains?_ It all seemed a bit extreme, even for his father. Loki hadn’t done anything truly wrong. He had been told years ago that the Casket was his birthright. He had left Asgard and had taken it with him. He personally didn’t see anything wrong with it.

_Laufeyson._

The word - disowning his younger brother entirely - rattled around in his head. There would be no happy return for the Black Prince. There would be no joyous reunion with Frigga.

“Father,” he interjected, his mouth operating without his consent.  
The All-Father glared at him, a finger sharply pointed towards his face. “You will be _silent_!” The white-haired man took a few steps towards him, his voice dropping menacingly. “You have no right to interfere in things that you do not understand,” he hissed, single eye flashing.

“But he’s my brother,” he murmured, fear gripping is heart like a vice. “Don’t you care for him?”

The older man’s nostrils flared, his eye narrowing. “We will discuss this later, Thor. Until then, you will keep your mouth shut.”

He nodded, bowing his head. His eyes found the floor once more. Shamed before all of Asgard and all he could think about was how his father was tearing his own family apart.

He quickly spun on his heel and left, not waiting to be dismissed. Someone needed to tell his mother and he knew that it should be him because Loki, selfishly, wouldn’t do it himself.

His steps echoed through the nearly deserted halls. Their regularity helped calm him but did little to release the vice that had constricted his heart. The few staff that darted about bowed as he passed, wishing him well and rushing away to continue their tasks.

He stopped before the carved doors of his mother’s rooms, pausing to see the intricate floral designs. A finger, calloused from his time in combat, traced the petals of a hydrangea. inhaling to steady himself, he knocked on the wooden structure.

The door swung ope to reveal the bleary eyes of his mother, the Goddess of Marriage, Mothers, and Children. And he would be telling her that she had lost a child because of her husband.

“Mother,” he tried to smile, “May I come in?”

She smiled back, the action not quite reaching her eyes, and stepped back. “Of course, Dear. Please: come in.”

He brushed by her, gripping her upper arms tenderly. Her rooms were a bit disheveled, not polished and pristine as it usually was, as if reflecting her depression. _It’s about to get worse…_

“Have a seat, Mother,” he said, gesturing towards an arm chair without looking at her. “How are you doing? Are you well?”

The woman looked at him, her eyes sharpening as she eased down onto the velvet upholstered chair. “What is going on, Thor?” she asked, her focus almost vulture-like on his visage. “Something is bothering you - is it your promise to me? Thor. Do not bring punishment upon yourself for me! I will survive.”

Her face, losing it’s focus, told him otherwise.

“It is,” he breathed, sitting down on the edge of the settee across from the beautiful woman that had birthed him. “But not because of you - or even Loki. Norns…” He drifted off rubbing the back of his neck. He had no idea how to breech what had just happened in the throne room with the person that it would effect most minus the person that had been named in the proclamation itself.

“What is it?”

The usually warm voice was soft and cutting. He glanced up at the grey eyes that had turned slate, hardened.

“The Casket was taken from the Vault…,” he stumbled, his tongue unable to release the words that he needed to.

“ _Loki_ ,” the Vanir woman breathed, her hands trembling. Pressing her palms together evenas her lips paled, her eyes lost their edge and trimmed themselves with tears.

He nodded, confirming her line of thought. It was his turn to press his hands together. Sweat greeted the gesture and he quickly wiped them on his breeches, the leather growing slick beneath his palms. A warm, calm hand stopped the action, causing him to look up, meeting the melancholic smile of his mother.

“I know what your father’s done, Thor. There is nothing more you can do.” The hand squeezed, matching the pressure of her lips against each other, paling past white. “Thank you. For trying.” She smiled at him even as the action didn’t reach her eyes which were blinking back tears. “You should get out of Asgard for a while, Darling. Go somewhere else for a bit. Maybe with a little of time, your father’s anger will cool, and all will be forgiven.” The woman’s hand released his own with another weak squeeze. “And remember, Dear Heart, that you are not your father.”

____

_The rainbow brightness of the Bifrost receded to reveal a cluster of mortals in dark sunglasses and dark suits. Straightening, he set Mjölnir on the ground and raised his open palms towards the advancing men and women._

_“I am Thor of Asgard, God of Thunder and Heir of the Realm. I come in peace to observe and serve the people of Midgard,” he stated, keeping his gaze haughty yet humble and his voice even._

_The man, a rather unassuming and small mortal, moved closer to him warily. “Welcome to Earth, Prince Thor,” the man stated, offering a hand. “I’m Agent Coulson, of Shield. How long are you planning on observing Earth?”_

_The man’s voice was soft and kind. His eyes, through the glasses, were not. They were hard and calculating, reminding him, briefly of Loki. But only briefly because, unlike the Son of Coul, his adopted brother looked as dangerous as his eyes relayed._

_He shook the mortal’s hand, noting the subtle callouses and the firm grip before releasing it once more. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Son of Coul.” He smiled what he knew to be his charming smile. “I know not how long I shall be staying here, on Midgard, but I have no plans to cause you or this planet any ill.”_

He woke with a start, thunder rattling the glass windows of the tower that he resided in. His powers over the storm did not usually act up unless he was frightened from a complete place of contentment. Why he had been aroused so abruptly, he wasn’t sure.

His eyes scanned the room, noting that nothing was out of place. He had made this room and the rest of the apartment his own in the time since he had been placed among Earth’s Mightiest Heroes known as the Avengers. That had been almost three years ago now, though, strangely, part of it seemed like yesterday or decades ago. He had missed Asgard and his parents but they had yet to summon him, so he stayed. He missed Loki more but tried not to think about his younger brother that much. Well, at least not every waking moment.

Another memory flooded to the forefront of his mind, the ache from missing his blue shadow settling into his gut. _“This is where you’ll be stationed,” the Son of Could stated, matter-of-factly, gesturing him into the common room of the Tower. There was a very familiar man standing behind the bar, his face falling as he recognized him. The agent didn’t notice and continued his speech. “This is Tony Stark. He’s tech and helps lead the team as Iron Man. He’s the one who built the Tower - it’s his building-”_

_As the mortal was talking, he was striding furiously across the room. As he drew up before the mortal, the man raised his hands. “Now let’s talk about thi-”_

_The man didn’t get to finish as his fist connected with his nose. The crunch was satisfying and helped calm his anger just a bit. He resisted the urge to punch the man once more as the mortal reeled back, clutching his face as blood poured through his fingers._

_“How dare you insult my brother!” he bellowed, his fist still raised._

_Through his hands, the hurt mortal snarkily mumbled, “I only stated the facts!”_

_His fist flew again, slamming into the shorter man’s stomach. Stark crumpled with a moan. “My brother is a better man than you will ever be!” he hissed, standing over the brunette, threateningly._

_“What’s going on here?” the agent called loudly, moving to stand between him and the injured man, his arms outstretched and his mask gone form his shocked features._

_“He came to my realm as a marriage prospect for my brother and insulted him most dishonorably!” he growled, his teeth gritting together with such force that he summoned thunder._

_“Let’s be reasonable about this,” the man in the suit said, his voice level even as he stood between him and his intended target. The man’s attention turned to the crumpled Midgardian ‘ruler.’ “What did you do, Stark?”_

_“I was promised a princess and was offered a blue man!” the mortal stated, hissing in pain as his fingers tenderly palpitated his nose. “I think you broke it! JARVIS! Get Banner here - now!”_

_“As you wish, Sir,” a disembodied voice spoke from the ceiling, making him lose his concentration for a split second. “Doctor Banner has been alerted and asked to bring the first aid kit.”_

_“Your brother’s blue?” the agent said, his eyes widening as they focused upon him once more._

_“He’s adopted,” he muttered, a thought striking him like an arrow through his heart. “And not treated well because of his…overt differences…” He paused, inhaling shakily. “It is unforgivable to have called him a monster when you have no true knowledge of him.”_

As he’d spoken, he began to realize something. Something terrible. _I’ve been doing it since his adoption…despite knowing him and his brilliance…his unique beauty._

“I’m so sorry, Loki,” he breathed into the empty chamber, the morning light creeping up the walls. “I should have told you ‘I love you’ every day of our lives together and now…”

Inhaling once more, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and rose to sit. The silken sheets and downy comforter tumbled off his frame, revealing his hard-earned musculature to the light of the morning. Without a call, there was not much he had planned for the day. It was almost monotonous, the same routine day in, day out, but he refused to return to Asgard while his parents’ were warring with each other. He also knew that he could, potentially, find more information regarding his missing brother here than on Asgard where one parent mourned and the other placed blame. At least, that was what he hoped.

_ _ _ _

Coffee was a horrible bitter thing but he continued to imbibe it, wanting to remain awake if only to learn more about his companions. He’d realized that he knew them but didn’t _know_ them. He knew what they did on the battlefield, what they ate after, and how much time they spent sparing in the gym. Beyond that, there was little he knew.

In an attempt to learn more, he remained awake night after night, spending bits of time here and there with each of his new mortal friends, and he was glad of it.

The Captain, Steve Rogers, was from an earlier era, awoken from an icy tomb after seventy years. He enjoyed learning about modern popular culture but would be found at all hours sketching scenes of New York City life or listening to flat black circles called records. The man had a good sense of humor but often retreated to the quiet, which reminded him of Loki and the days on end that he would spend in the library.

The Hawk was loud and brash. He thought of himself as a younger man than he was and was often injured for his pains. His life was a rough one and SHIELD had saved him from pursuing crime as an orphan, ex-circus performer with a limited skill set and no formal schooling. His accuracy with the bow was above and beyond what his compatriots among the ranks of the Einherjar were capable of and he was often awed by his skill.

His constant companion was the Widow - a woman who lived up to her name. She was truly deadly even if she reserved her prowess for the battlefield and, sometimes, in meetings with SHIELD. Her tongue was not as talented as Loki’s but reminded him of the navy being regardless. When she wasn’t focused on work, or her rather dark past, she liked to bake and his sweet tooth was eternally grateful for it.

Banner was cursed, as was obvious by his rather large, angry, green berserker. The man, for being a cursed being, was surprisingly kind and gentle. It seemed as if he was making up for the damage his other half caused. He had spent time with him meditating, simply breathing and focusing internally. It was helpful and he often found himself closing his eyes and breathing deeply when he began to feel frustrated. Loki, he knew, would be proud. The mortal man, when not green and smashing every possible threat in sight (including him on multiple occasions), acted as the medical doctor and a science consultant for Stark and SHIELD.

The only one he hadn't spent any time with was the aforementioned billionaire. The ill-will that he still bore him was hard to let go of. Especially when his words reminded him of how terrible he had been to his brother. Tonight, he vowed to change that.

The music, a loud, blaring mash of sound, greeted him as he exited the elevator. “Friend Stark!” he called, his usually booming voice small in the din.

The inventor was bent over his work bench, unhearing.

 _Sir,_ JARVIS, the disembodied Watcher, turned the music down for a couple of moments. _Thor is here_.

“Here?” the man asked, not even looking up from his project. “Dim the music, JARV.”

The AI obeyed, turning the music down and leaving the pair of them in the relative quiet. Stark still had not looked up from his worktop.

“What are you working on, Stark?” he asked, moving closer, his mug of coffee in one hand as he balanced the Man of Iron’s in the other.

“Parts for the suit,” the man muttered, shooting him a rapid glance before dropping his eyes back to the metal between his hands.

When the inventor remained focused and didn’t turn to face him, he pushed a bit further, stepping closer. “I brought you some coffee.” He set the mug down on the table, well away from any of the tiny pieces of metal the mortal was fiddling with. “I find the stuff rather unpalatable but, as I am still wide awake, I can see the value of imbibing this beverage.”

“Careful there, Point Break. You’ll get addicted,” the man muttered, shooting him a quick glance before refocusing on his project. “I appreciate the cup. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugged, aware that the man didn’t see it. “I am unsure how long I will remain here and I wish to put our past behind us. Words were exchanged and hurts were dealt but I think that we can both say that we have learned from our pasts.”

Brown eyes, filled with an intelligence that was reminiscent of his sibling’s ruby pair, met his. A finger tapped the glowing circle in the middle of his chest. It had not been there on Asgard almost five years ago and he had to admit he was curious about it. “After I left your planet, I was tortured and, to keep shrapnel from piercing my heart, this was drilled into my sternum. It keeps me alive but it made me realize that I was more of a monster than anyone I’ve ever met. I regret what I said but, let’s face it Thor, your brother wouldn’t have been happy here.”

Despite his similarities to all of the Avengers, he knew the mortal was right. Loki was a bit too other, a bit too untamable, to live under the mortal microscope as he was. Azure was not a color that painted itself on mortal skin. “You are right, Stark. You are right,” he breathed before taking another sip of the bitter, black liquid.

“You know, you might like coffee better if you added cream and sugar to it, Big Guy,” the mortal laughed as he downed his mug in several swift gulps.

____

The battle around them was glorious but their opponents were easy. They were all mortal, trying to force the impoverished villagers to become warriors in their battles for domination with another, equally as powerful group of mortals. While he despised getting caught up in the petty squabbles of mortals, he loathed their conquest of innocents more. _Much has changed in my time on Midgard,_ recalling a time when he would have plowed down any and all in his path for glory.

He tried to be careful with the mortals, knocking them unconscious with his fists rather than using Mjölnir. He used the hammer to disrupt the ground, slamming it down and throwing the men back if they got too close for comfort. He refrained from summoning the storm even as thunder rumbled and lightning flashed over parts of the barren land that had not seen water for months. _After this is finished, I’ll make it rain_ , he noted, punching an oncoming mortal in the gut before using his back swing to knock another, rushing him from behind, in the stomach.

Eventually, the mortals lost interest and quit. Or, at least surrendered. None of the team was worse for wear and Banner hadn’t even become green, rushing towards the battlefield with his medical kit in hand, prepared to help the villagers.

The Captain moved to stand beside him, wiping a bit of sweat and grime from his noble brow. “Do you think we can do something else for these people, Thor?” he asked, his voice low. He watched the man’s blue eyes rove over his face before falling on his hammer. The man’s visage turned away from him and searched the rather inhospitable area. “The drought’s been bad in these parts of years now.”

With a shrug, he gave his mighty hammer an idle twirl. The action caused a gentle rain to begin falling, the pitter patter painting the ground in tiny splotches before joining other blotches and darkening the thirsty soil. “A little rain won’t hurt anyone,” he breathed, smirking with only half of his mouth. “It may help some things grow. But there is little that can be done to change the clime of a place without seidr - magic. Loki could…” He stopped, his stomach tightening again a the thought of his lost sibling.

“Sorry to have brought it up.” The Captain clapped him on the shoulder, knowing that his siblings were a sore subject.

“It’s fine,” he breathed, shaking his head and pulling a bit of his hair from his face. “I still hope that he’s out there. Somewhere. But, more importantly, I hope he’s happy. He deserves to be happy.”

The man, born in a past era and rebirthed from an ice flow less than five years ago, nodded. He claimed to have some from a simpler time - a time when good men did good and evil men did evil. Life had been more complicated than that, and Steve Rogers knew that, but he hadn’t truly seen it in his brief life at the beginning of the past century. He had seen his own hardships, had lost the man that he had claimed to have been his brother in all but blood, but had kept fighting. He had overcome and strove to do what he (and his country) perceived to be right. If Thor learned nothing else in his time with the mortals, it was that good men would strive to overcome, no matter the odds - no matter the circumstances. He vowed to be more like the Captain in the face of loss and tribulations: the most noble of men.

He remained with the impoverished villagers for a week, the Captain keeping him company, until their crops began to truly sprout and grow. During that time, the people showered him with what little kindness they could and more. He felt guilty at their near worship but could almost feel his godhead blossoming under their attentions. He understood why Odin loved the Midgardians near the time of his birth and at the brink of the War with the Jotunn over a millennium ago: the man had been at full power, achieved through their prayers. To be worshiped as a god: no words could describe. What he realized though, in that week, was that he didn’t want it. And, once the village had the resources to continue, he left, allowing the power to drop behind him as the jet pulled him back to the Tower and the rest of his teammates.

_ _ _ _

His lips twitched into a sad smile as he waved the image of the smiling blonde warrior away, revealing the silver bottom of his scrying bowl once more. Thor was happy. He had made friends with the mortals. He had learned that with power came responsibility. He could survive his rule of Asgard with the help of Balder. He was not needed. Norns knew he was not wanted.

_ _ _ _

 _Five years_. It was nothing in her lifetime and yet it feel like an eternity. _Five years since I lost my children._

That was a complete lie, of course. Balder and her daughter-in-law, Nanna, had remained on Asgard, learning from her husband and beginning to sit on petty councils. Nanna had become quite the healer with Eir to guide her. But…neither of them were Thor or Loki. Balder was not her child by blood and he did not possess her seidr like her youngest son. She loved him but it felt like a different love. He had already been grown when she had come as Odin’s second bride and while she loved him and he loved her, it was a different love from her two children that she had raised at her breast and on her knee.

With a wave of her hand, the water in her bowl solidified, becoming a mirror to Thor’s life. He was enjoying his time among the Midgardians, it seemed. He had grown into a fine young man - a warrior and a ruler - seeing that not everything can be black and white, that there are victims on all sides.

Now, he was sitting amongst his shield brethren, laughing about something and eating what she couldn’t really describe as food. The ragtag group was an odd conglomeration of mortals but they worked well together and seemed to genuinely like each other. She was glad that her true-born child had found a place there. The mortals seemed to treat him as an equal, not elevated above them. It was treatment that he would not get anywhere else.

 _Norns bless the mortals_ , she mused, unable to stop the little laugh that escaped her lips as the woman tossed a grape into the mouth of the archer and he caught it with a grin, his arms raising triumphantly. Her son roared with laughter once more, tossing one high before catching it in his own mouth. It brought back memories of Thor and Loki, competing to see who could catch the most flying fruit in a row. Loki, the Trickster God, usually won but was often accused of cheating with his seidr. A bleary blue boy had appeared before her, sniffling about how he hated that he had magic because every skill he mastered would be thought of as something he achieved through his seidr and not through practice. She’d told him that he was right and to ignore their hate simply because they did not understand that seidr couldn’t do everything.

The thoughts made her heart ache, missing her beloved youngest child more than she had ever imagined. She vanished the image of Thor and wished to see Loki, spinning the dream into every ounce of her spell work. She desired it with every fibre of her being. And yet, when she opened her eyes, all she saw was black. “Loki,” she sighed in disappointment, breaking the charm with an idle stroke of her finger. The ripples dispelled the blackness and revealed the bottom of her scrying bowl.

Her child was still using his seidr to block his location from prying eyes. Even Heimdall had been unsuccessful in locating the wayward youth and her husband’s seat of power upon his throne was just as unsuccessful. She shouldn’t have been surprised that she couldn’t find him with her own, weaker seidr.

She pushed the bowl back, sloshing the water a bit in its gilded walls. With a heavy sigh, she rested her arms on her desk’s polished surface and rested her head on top. She felt tired, emotionally drained. Something told her that she wouldn’t feel completely herself until both of her babies were in her arms. Safe and happy.

_ _ _ _

“MOVE!” he shouted, pushing the significantly more fragile Black Widow out of the way from the massive fireball as it hurtled from the sky. Raising Mjölnir, he smashed the hot stone and flame into pieces that scattered over the adjoining four blocks. Surtur and his horde of Fire Demons had appeared out of nowhere in the early hours of the morning. Even JARVIS had been caught unaware, raising the alarm when a flaming sword welding demon had lighted on the roof.

He was trying his best to spread the rain as far and wide as he could, but his powers were not proving to be completely effective. The smaller demons had lost their flames, fighting with dulled swords as their larger counterparts continued to hurtle massive comets into buildings and crowds of people. With their small band, they could only do so much and he knew that they were losing ground.

Barton had long run out of arrows, shooting any weapon that he could find, including a water cannon that Stark had rigged in the lab ages ago. The water, coming down in torrents from a nearby rooftop, were effective but not widespread and the demons had begun to avoid the area within its spray. Natasha had been working with Steve to clear the ground of civilians. The pair attacked what they could but looked laughably small in comparison to the massive giants. Stark was trying to attack from above, aiming for the creatures’ eyes and mouths, the only places that they were vulnerable to anything less than a god-like force. They were sorely outgunned and outmanned and he wished that they had thrice the warriors to not only contain the Fire Giants but vanquish them back to Muspelheim.

A roar not unlike the Bifrost echoed from the park behind him and he spun, fearing the worse. Unlike the Bifrost, the portal looked like a tear in the fabric of space itself. The other side was dark, unlike Muspelheim with it’s constant magma flows and volcanic eruptions.

“What’s that?” the Hawk’s voice asked through crackling coms, exhaustion creeping through the wariness.

“A portal - like the Bifrost but cruder,” he stated, still in awe of it showing up.

“I’ve got it covered,” Stark stated confidently over the coms, swooping down to hover before the opening. “Man, it’s freezing over here! There’s snow coming out - It’s only September!”

“Snow?” he breathed, hope fluttering in his viscera momentarily before he realized that Asgard was at a rather tentative peace with the Frost Giants. His father had taken things from them to keep them subdued, essentially castrating the realm and sending them to die a slow, icy death. _Are they seeing how weak Midgard is and are helping the Fire Demons to conquer it?_ he wondered, before shaking his head at the thought. While their relationships with Asgard were tenuous, they hated each other.

“Holy Sh*t!” the Man of Iron shouted, flying backwards several yards before stopping once more, his blasters helping to stabilize his his retreat. “There are more of them! But they’re _blue!_ ”

“Do they seem hostile?” Captain America asked while decapitating one of the small demons with his shield. “We’re barely keeping these Fire Demons in check. We can’t fight off more of them!”

“They’re Frost Giants - Jotunn,” he stated, clearing a path toward the portal with large swings of Mjölnir. “They are massive and live in the land of ice and snow. They are the archenemies of the Fire Demons but they also tried to conquer Midgard centuries ago, so they may be here to do that.”

“They could be using this attack as a way to take over…They know we can’t fight both of them!” the Captain stated, panting through his exertion as he continued to fight through the crowds of demons.

 _Right_ , he mused, finally moving to stand before the portal. The air gusting out was littered with fat snowflakes. With a sense of authority, a pair of massive azure warriors emerged, side by side through the glowing tear, glowering at the chaos that surrounded them. The two Jotunn stood on either side of the portal, simply staring ahead, hands empty of weaponry but their eyes alert and sharp. _Guards?_ he noted, even as he glanced at them suspiciously. He resisted shivering, not wishing to appear weak before Asgard’s enemies. Hefting Mjölnir, he shouted into the icy void, “Come forth, Cowards, and make your intentions known! This world is under my protection and protection of Odin All-Father and Asgard. Leave now, or face our wrath!”

“Somethings never change, do they, Thor?”

The voice made him falter, seizing his heart with shock, hope, fear, and anger. The owner of the voice was revealed as a small, navy figure exited the portal, arms extended in a mock surrender. A smirk donned thin lips and the ruby eyes sparkled with a light of mischief, letting him know that the surrender was only for show. “But we come in peace. In fact, Odinson, we’ve come to help. Unless you think you’re handling this well on your own, Protector of Midgard?” An ebony clawed hand waved about at the carnage dismissively, the wry smirk still plastered on the navy lips.

“ _Loki_ ,” he breathed. The statement sent shockwaves through his coms, each of his teammates reacting to his murmured shock. They knew that he had come to Midgard in search of his younger sibling and had stayed because he enjoyed helping them. It was after a couple of months that he had taken his position as Protector of Midgard very seriously in an attempt to waylay his own emotional turmoil over the loss of Loki.

“Shit,” Stark hissed, lowering his suited body until it hovered only three or so feet off the trampled mud and grass. “He’s here to _help?_ I thought you said he held a grudge…”

Thor, still captivated by his brother’s reappearance, took a couple of steps forward. “You- _you live!_ ” he stammered, smiling even as his emotions continued to roil in the pit of his stomach and grip his heart. “I thought you lost! Mother weeps for you daily!”

The ruby eyes narrowed. “And Father? Does he mourn?”

Hecouldn't respond, knowing that Loki would see thought any half-truth his lips spewed forth. His mouth gaped, opening and closing like a landed fish, unsure of how to proceed.

Loki gave him a knowing smirk before crossing his arms over his chest. “As much as I would _love_ to dissect our familial issues, there are more pressing matters to attend to.” He gestured almost dismissively to the ongoing destruction with an idle, cobalt hand. “As the last prince of Jotunnheim, I have proven my strategic prowess on the battlefield and I have troops to command. With whom do I speak to collaborate with your forces?”

His brother’s sharp, calculating eyes shot around the park once more, pausing briefly to focus on the screaming mortals, the looming Demons, and at the smoking buildings beyond.

Stark descended, his iron boots thunking into the giving soil, and strode forward. Loki didn’t even blink, watching the metal man approach with a practiced coolness. The visor slid up, revealing the man’s visage, the swift action only garnering a blink from the Jotunn. The two hulking guards didn’t flinch either. “Look, Eiffel 95. There are six of us against all of these molten hobgoblins-”

An elegant eyebrow raised at the statement. “Six of you against a horde of Fire Giants, led by Surtur himself?” There was a well-hidden hint of awe in the calm baritone.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” the inventor stated, “And we could use your help.”

The scarlet eyes narrowed and the thin lips thinned further. “Even from _monsters_?”

 _Of course he remembers._ He quickly quashed the eyeball that threatened as his own stupidity. Loki always recalled with perfect clarity every slight he had been dealt in his life. Even though they were numerous, each harmful word was hurtful and he had dealt too many of them himself. “Stark speaks true, Brother,” he chimed in, trying to redirect and salvage the situation. “We could use your Jotunn as well as yourself to help rid us of these demons.”

“Point Break is right,” the Man of Iron stated, his face earnest and serious. “We need you.”

“Then we will help,” his sibling stated, determination painting his features, his fangs flashing.

_ _ _ _

The battle raged on for several more hours despite the reinforcement of over fifty Jotunn berserkers and Loki’s Casket-summoned snow storm. New York City would be digging out for several days, but it was the massive amount of snow that had eventually extinguished most of the fires and turned the tide in their favor. Fire Demons obviously hated precipitation but ice was their downfall. It didn’t dissipate quickly in the presence of fire and extinguished the flames necessary for their survival.

Surtur had been cornered and, with the help of the Hulk (who was a wonderful distraction) and Stark (who was an expert stealth flyer despite his scarlet suit), his crown stripped with a nightly blow from Mjölnir. The massive, smoldering remains would need to be returned to Asgard and stored in the Vault where they wouldn’t be lit with the Eternal Flame ever again.

 _That transfer could wait for a day or two_ , he noted as he watched the massive Jotunn berserkers returned to Jotunnheim through his sibling’s portal, and returned with the team, plus Loki, to the Tower. _There are more important things at the moment._

For now, his adopted sibling was beside him on Stark’s roof, surveying the battlefield of New York from his perch on the wide, stone ledge. Eyeing Loki, the Casket of Ancient Winters held in his hands like a precious child, he knew that his brother worried that his powerful weapon - his birthright - would be stripped and returned to Odin’s Vault. For all he knew, once their father discovered his errant child’s whereabouts, he would be dragged back to Asgard with the charge for high treason for stealing it. The calculating visage, complete with thin lips and furrowed brow, told him that his sibling was contemplating the same things.

Ambling over to the smaller man, he settled beside him with a heavy sigh. The blue being flinched but did not look at him directly, his eyes narrowing on the horizon. While staring straight ahead, he leaned a bit heavily into the slight, azure shoulder. “Thank you, Loki. We wouldn’t have been victorious without you.”

The shoulder beneath his shrugged. “You would have figured it out, Thor. You always do.”

“No, I wouldn’t have, and you know it,” he stated, looking at the other man, meeting his gaze for what seemed like the first time. Despite the soot that still marred his brow and the right side of his face, the Jotunn beside him was truly beautiful. “How-how did you know? That I was here? That I was in desperate need of aid?”

An ebony eyebrow cocked before his younger sibling released a derisive chuckle, his lips twisting up at the corners. “I’m a sorcerer, Thor, and you are hopeless when it comes to caring for yourself.” The man paused, obviously seeing his disgruntled confusion. A twinkle of mirth shone in the ruby depths of his eyes. “I’ve been _scrying_ you, Thor, every day, because I knew that you would get yourself into trouble and you would need me to bail you out.” The Jotunn grinned at him, flashing all of his sharp, white teeth as he punched him playfully in the shoulder. “And, as you can see, I was right.”

He bumped the blue being with his broad shoulder, chuckling. “I am glad. We would not have won without you and your Jotunn Berserkers. And I am glad to see you. I have missed you terribly.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Brother,” Loki murmured, his features softening into a tender smile. “As much as I have enjoyed finding myself in the Winter, I have missed Asgard…But… I’m not sure if I could ever return.”

Azure hands tightened on the Casket of Ancient Winters causing the object to flare momentarily. Ruby eyes gazed into it’s depths as if seeing the future. After a long moment, lithe fingers twitched, stroking the whorls on it’s surface almost tenderly as the Jotunn sighed heavily.

He knew the look well. He felt the same when he held Mjölnir. _Maybe the Casket is sentient with Loki as Mjölnir is for me_ , he pondered, his sibling’s pensive mood settling over him like a thick fog.

“Why?” he breathed, not quite understanding all of Loki’s reasons for not returning to their home. He understood that he feared losing the Casket and the punishment that awaited him for stealing it. _But there must be something more…Surely Father wouldn’t punish him too severely. After all, we would have lost without it._

The azure being sighed heavily. “I have learned much, Odinson, in my exile. There are prejudices among the Asgardians, policies that Odin enforces, that only benefit the Aesir. Surely, you’ve seen it? Having a Jotunn child has done nothing to make the All-father see the less privileged members of the Nine as more than monsters or impoverished people who brought their situations upon themselves! He has the power and the position to provide aid, education, and trade but simply takes without a thought.” Sharp, scarlet eyes met his, resolve in their depths. “It has to end, Thor, but I know that my pleas will be unheard. And that is ignoring that he has condemned me for taking what is mine by rights.”

Loki sighed, shaking his head. “Besides, I like Jotunnheim. I like my quiet little cavern. I like that I am _heard_ and _appreciated_ for what I am capable of intellectually and not just physically. I am _seen_. On Asgard, I was silent and only of worth because of my intersexuality.” Those piercing eyes grabbed is own once more. “Do you know how _painful_ that is? To be reduced to so little? To be found worthy for something you have no control over? To be worth almost _nothing?_ ”

He shook his head, well aware that their father had treated him differently than his other siblings. After all, Loki was not the only sibling he had that had been sold into marriage to maintain Asgard’s power. “No, I cannot. And I am sorry that I can’t because I wish to truly understand. That is partially why I left. I could not face Father and his single-mindedness. It was becoming suffocating. I can only imagine what you endured…”

Lithe hands waved, banishing the Casket back into one of Loki’s invisible pockets of space-time. The small Jotunn rose with a groan. He watched the musculature of the thin man’s back flex and pull as he stretched on the ledge, flecks of metallics in his skin reflecting the dying sun. “I’d better get going,” the younger man stated, his back still to him, “There is much that I need to do. King Helblindi will wish to be debriefed on our little skirmish here and I have to begin my preparations for the coming Winter.”

The words were like knives, plunging into his heart and stomach, stealing his breath. Unbidden, his hand reached out and grabbed the blue shoulder. The texture was rough even as the raised, angular lines were silky. Piercing ruby eyes focused on his tanned fingers, wide with shock.

“Must you?” he asked, his voice soft and carrying a sentiment that he usually lacked. “Must you go now? Surely you could stay a bit longer…?”

The eyes continued to stare at his hand as if it were a foreign object - an 0-8-4 as SHIELD would call it - unblinking. He tightened his grip ever so slightly, trying to emphasize his words through touch. “I’ve missed you, Loki. _Terribly_.”

The younger being shrugged out of his hold and began striding away, jumping down from the ledge and onto the gravel-covered roof. The back, bare and blue, carried a determination that didn’t translate to the bowed ebony head or the shaking hand that rose to brush some of the flyaway back from what had to be a crinkled brow. With a quick slashing motion, a new hole in the World’s Tree was rent and the Jotunn vanished in a brilliant flash of cobalt light.

Thor blinked, staring at the empty expanse of the roof, wondering if it was something he had said and realizing that he would probably never know. All that he knew was that his gut sunk at the sight without the handsome being in it.

_ _ _ _

“Thank you, Friend Stark,” he smiled softly at the gathering that spread before him, “Your hospitality shall not be forgotten.”

The mortal shrugged, brushing his statement away with a nonchalance that only the playboy inventor could. “It’s no big, Point Break. You’re welcome any time! Tell that to your blue brother, too. We could use both of you on our team.” The man took a step closer and lowered his voice. “And I was wrong. On Asgard. Tell him I’m sorry.”

He nodded, clapping the man on his shoulder with a forgiving smile. “I shall, Stark.”

Looking up at the rest of the gathering once more, his smile widened, thinking about the precious memories he had made with the scrappy group of mortals before focusing on his next mission. “We shall return, Man of Iron. I am certain of it.” He waved jovially at the rest of the Avengers and they saluted him back, grinning even as their sentimentality showed in their eyes. “Until next time, Friends,” he stated, stepping back onto the Bifrost rune on the arm of the Tower.

Heimdall whisked him away, his precious cargo of the Crown of Surtur strapped to his back, thumping with the force of the Rainbow Bridge. The action made him breathless even as he became exhilarated by it. There was no travel quite like Bifrost travel and he had missed it during his quasi-exile.

The bright lights retreated as his boots connected with the solid gold plating of the Watcher’s Observatory. As he blinked the little black spots froths vision, he heard the rumbling voice of Heimdall. “Welcome back to Asgard, my Prince.”

He greeted the statuesque god with a nod. “Thank you, Heimdall.” Patting the warm metal of the Crown over his shoulder, he asked, “Is the All-Father available?”

The ebony man nodded once, his eyes focused once more on the cosmos. “He is waiting for you.”

Thor sighed, knowing that if he met with Odin he would not be able to leave. Or, at least not as quickly as he wished. _Surely Father knows what I intend to do…_ Sighing, he swung the heavy Crown of the Fire Demon from his shoulders. “I’m sure he is but I…can’t,” he murmured, knowing full well that the Watcher heard him.

The Crown clunked loudly as he put it down on the gold floor. His guilt was beginning to settle into his gut. He was the Heir of Asgard, the Crown Prince: he knew that he was expected to bring the Crown of Surtur to the Vault and be lauded for his contribution to the Peace of the Nine. _But I didn’t do this alone. The Avengers. The Jotunn Berserkers._ ** _Loki_** _._

“If you do not go now, my Prince,” Heimdall stated, his voice even and knowing, “You will lose him again.”

He glanced at the taller man and saw the piercing golden orbs looking at him with the knowledge of his deepest desires. “The Crown can wait. The Jotunn Prince will not.”

Smiling, feeling a bubbly exhilaration rumble through him. “Then send me to Jotunnheim,” he stated, his limbs quivering with anticipation. “I have to make something right.”

“As you wish, my Prince,” the golden god stated, sliding his sword home. As he turned the Bifrost Key, he iterated, “Good luck be with you.”

As soon as the Bifrost retreated, he realized that, while he needed to make things right with his adopted sibling, he was not dressed warmly enough. _Norns, it’s cold!_ he hissed, mentally, tugging his cloak about his frame and beginning his trek through the blustering snows.

Of course, as he wandered, one rock formation looking very much like the last, he began to doubt his plan. It was stupid to go to Jotunnheim, a vast realm, without any preparation. He quickly lost all feeling in his toes and his fingers were prickling painfully. Emboldened by the wind, the icy flakes felt like their were cutting into his face and hands. His vision was blurry at best as his eyes were streaming with tears which quickly froze on his rapidly numbing skin.

“Are you lost?”

The voice surprised him and he whirled to find himself face to face with a small Frost Giant, a concerned look on his face. The Jotunn was obviously a child, a bit of fat clinging to his cheeks and torso even as it promised to be massive and bulky with muscle in a few decades’ time. Large, wary garnet eyes blinked at him shyly as thick fingers fiddled with a ratty loincloth of some faded purple shade.

“I…am,” he replied, no doubt visibly shivering as his mouth creaked with the effort of speaking two words.

The bald head cocked, curious. “Where are you going?”

He shook his head, aware that his hair was practically frozen to his skull. “I’m-mmm looking for Puh-Prince Loki Luh-Laufeyson,” he chattered, his mouth barely opening to release the words into their air with a continuous puff of moisture.

The child grinned. Surprisingly, he reached out with a wide hand. “He lives near here. I can bring you to him, if you’d like?”

Thor nodded, unable to do much else. His guide, still smiling, grabbed his hand with a shockingly tight grip, and set off in the direction that he’d come. _Great,_ he chided, _I’ve been wandering in circles or I’ve missed the delightful little cavern that Loki calls his own._

“You’re lucky you came now.” The little Jotunn was yammering away with little regard as to whether he was listening or not. “Prince Loki was away winning battles until today.”

He nodded, knowing exactly where Loki had been as recently as that morning. He pushed aside a thought about whom all of the battles his sibling had apparently been waging were against and continued to follow beside the large child. Instead, he focused on putting one foot infant of the other. The younger being was a decent barrier against the wind and he lagged behind, his leg feeling like pillars of lead, as he was dragged towards his brother.

The lump of snow was not something that he would have ever classified as a home, much less a cosy cavern, but he was stopped before it by his guide. “Here it is, Sir,” the child stated as he released his hand. “Just a bit further towards that mound there…you’ll see the rocks. He’s living there. If you see the springs, you’ve gone too far.”

“Wuh-where are you going?” he asked, his teeth chattering. He rubbed his hands together, not feeling the motion in his phalanges.

“My Bearer will be wondering where I am,” the child smiled, waving at him as he began to gavotte back in the other direction. “Good luck, Sir!”

“Thank you!” he called after the retreating figure, truly grateful for the help. He couldn’t help but laugh at the Jotunn as he continued to jovially race through the snow, truly showing his age. He was reminded of Loki when he was younger, enjoying the rare snows on Asgardwith the same unbridled joy - before he had been beaten down by their father, the Aesir, and himself. _Norns know I’m sorry_ , he mused as he trudged through the snow, trying to ignore the growing urge to stop and sit on his unfeeling legs.

He pulled the edged of his cloak tighter about his frame in an attempt to cut the wind and maintain a bit more body heat, unsuccessfully. His limbs were leaden and his fingers lost their grip allowing his cape to rip free, blowing like a banner, the only color in the dull landscape that surrounded him. He took one more faltering step before he lost his footing. The snow rushed up to meet him and he exhaled into it. His breath barely melted any of it, revealing his drastically dropped temperature before his eyes fluttered shut. He couldn’t feel anything except how heavy his limbs felt and how exhausted he was from dragging himself aimlessly through the snow.

_ _ _ _

“You are an utter idiot.”

The voice broke through the darkness and his eyelids fluttered. He felt something thick, heavy and warm settle about his frame.

“Norns!” his brother’s voice hissed above him, “What possessed you to go wandering through the snows without your warmest winters?! Why in _Hel_ are you here?” He listened to the light, barefooted tread of his sibling retreat away before a hot compress was pressed to his brow. “How in the World Tree did you find me?”

Despite the warmth and the pain the prickled along his limbs alerting him to the fact that he was no longer dying of exposure, he could barely open his eyes or mouth to respond. He moaned, trying regardless.

“Thor?” His brother’s voice was soft, unsure.

“Lo-ki,” he groaned out of his chapped lips. He blinked, rolling up his sluggish and leaden lids to see the concerned azure face of his sibling hovering above him.

Thin lips pulled into a pale, thin line as his brow wrinkled. A firm, cool hand, pressed him back into the warm but soft cushion on which he was reclined. “Stay down. You’re still too cold. Oaf,” the younger being hissed. Another thick white fur was pulled onto his prone form.

The Jotunn spun away, bustling about the warm glow of the fire in the central pit. He watched as a bubbling stew was stirred and cool water was drawn from a barrel near a doorway across from him that no doubt led to the outside and the raging Winter. “What were you thinking?” the younger man continued to mutter to himself as he worked, his thick hair pulled back in a braid. His back was bare, catching his hair on his ridges as he moved.

Loki had changed in his time apart. His nails, he noticed, were no longer flattened as he had kept them among the Aesir, but pointed and slightly hooked like claws. A quick glance at his feet revealed that his toenails had become the same. He had developed a more wiry, chorded muscular composition to his frame, sharpening his facial angles and making him look fierce, someone not to be trifled with. He was stunning and he wondered when that had happened. _When he became self-assured_ , he realized. _Loki has flourished in his time away while Asgard has floundered…and I have been lost, adrift…_

“Thank you,” he murmured through his bumbling lips. Slowly, aware that his body was still unthawing, he rose a bit further from his pile of blankets and furs.

The ebony head shook. “Don’t thank me. I couldn’t leave the Heir of Asgard to die of hypothermia in the wastes of Jotunnheim. Jotunnehim can’t handle an all-out war against the Gods right now.”

The statement struck him. “But you just helped fight the Fire Demons on Midgard,” he stated, trying to hide his confusion, “No casualties.”

“That you saw,” the younger being shot back, his eyes latching onto his own with a ferocity that surprised him. “There is much that you do not know, Odinson. Much that the All-Father doesn’t notice. Or care to notice.”

His brow furrowed, the skin pulling painfully. “How long have you been fighting the Fire Demons?” he asked softly, the words of the child finally making sense.

The Jotunn’s visage hardened. The azure back turned to face him once more, the younger being busying himself in an attempt to waylay further questioning or in an attempt to gather his thoughts. As heavy as it was, the Thunderer remained silent, simply watching his sibling as he bustled about.

A wooden trencher was filled with the thick, bubbling stew as a chunk of a thickly crusted bread was placed carefully on top. The meal was brought to his side, cradled in thinly fingered hands. A flick of an agile wrist brought a short, three-legged stool to his sickbed’s side and he watched as Loki sat, his hands level with his head and his concerned visage looming over him once more.

Cobalt lips released a long, drawn-out sigh as a pewter spoon, summoned from thin air, was drawn through the broth. “Eat. It’ll help warm you up,” his sibling commanded, his cultivated mask pulled about his features. The spoon was practically shoved into his mouth before he could protest, making him grunt in surprise.

The broth was hot but not overly so, carving heated trails down his esophagus and into his empty stomach. It was rich and delicious, something that surprised him, considering the fact that the Jotunn rarely ate anything that was cooked, much less hot and bubbling. 

“The war with Surtur has been raging for years. I was dragged in less than a month after I arrived and settled here. My sibling, Prince Byleistr, found me rather quickly and knew of my position as a strategist for the Aesir; the All-Father is rarely subtle about his war tactics. He presented me to our brother, Helblindi, King of Winter, who welcomed me with open arms, the prodigal son - disowned by our Bearer but valued now that the tyrant has passed. He proclaimed me ‘Laufeyson,’ the lost prince of Winter.”

Another spoonful of stew was shoved unceremoniously into his mouth. Chewing and swallowing the perfectly cooked and seasoned meat, he continued to listen to the tale of the Black Prince of Asgard.

“With my acceptance as a Prince of Winter, I was elevated to General and placed in command of the Berserkers, strategizing and planning our next move against the invading Fire Demons.”

Another spoonful was accompanied by a weighty sigh. “You can guess why I had to take it…the Casket…Odin won’t understand, I’m sure, but, without it, my people were being slaughtered in droves. Now, it can be used to rebuild.”

The spoon was shoved past his lips again and he swallowed quickly, wanting to interject.

Loki continued, not giving him a chance to utter a syllable. “I guess the Demons tired of making no progress because they retreated from the southern territories last week and turned their gaze upon a weaker opponent.” He paused, smiling as he refilled the spoon with stew, scraping the excess off the back. “Thank you for being on Midgard. If you weren’t there, I would not have seen the Fire Demons there and Surtur would still be terrorizing the Nine.”

Finally, the hands rested and his mouth was left mercifully empty for a moment. “I went to Midgard because I was looking for you!”

An ebony brow cocked and flat ruby eyes blinked at him pointedly. “Thor. I am _blue_. Why would I go to Midgard?”

He shrugged (or at least attempted to as his shoulders still prickled with the sensation of feeling returning). “I know that you can wear a glamour…And I missed you. Father is wrong and you needed to know that…And then the Avengers welcomed me and needed my aid and I stayed…”

The azure visage contracted, brow drawing downward as lips pursed and eyes narrowed. “ _Odin is wrong?_ Do tell.” Mischief sparkled in the depths of his sibling’s eyes as a smirk played across navy lips.

Licking his lips, he slowly lifted a hand and reached for the closest arm of the Jotunn. Watching him struggle, especially with his tingling phalanges, his sibling met him more than halfway, reaching out with his free hand and grasping his fingers with a squeeze. The cool, calloused palm was a welcomed contrast to his warming fingers and he thanked the Norns that he could feel the contrast once more.

Licking his lips, he stated, “Our father is a strong, forceful king. He lives by the old ways and through ancient traditions. He cannot see that I need you, Loki.”

The ruby eyes widened before blinking rapidly. “Excuse me?” his sibling stammered, “You _need_ me?”

He nodded, groaning as his stiff neck burned with the motion. “I need you, Loki. Your time here has proven that.”

“My exile has _proven that you need me_?”

The Jotunn’s voice was low and dangerous. He knew that he hadn’t worded what he wanted to say well. He was not nearly as skilled with verbiage as his adopted brother and now, as he tried to present his argument, he was stumbling badly. “Look at what you’ve done!” he said enthusiastically, squeezing the blue hand tightly, sending shooting pains up his arm. He hissed but didn’t let go, keeping his gaze level with the harsh gaze of his nurse. “You’ve helped organize an impoverished realm into a formidable fighting force! You’re respectable and your intellect is valued. You are a recognized son of Laufey. Father is wrong for thinking that you can’t bring anything to Asgard except a bought peace!”

The ebony eyebrows rose and the blue hand was withdrawn from his grasp sharply. The Jotunn rose swiftly and placed his half-eaten trencher on the stool, turning his back from the bed and cutting him off from any facial expression on the other being’s visage. Cobalt shoulders rolled back, drawing the small Jotunn up against his continued stare. “I’m sorry, Loki,” he murmured, “But it’s true. Father is wrong. I need you.”

The back remained to him. Tall and proud. Loki would not be crushed or coddled, nor would he be easily swayed by his fumbling explanation. He needed to remind himself of that. _Norns, I am not going about this well…_ “I’m sorry that I’m so ineloquent.”

“You’ve made your thoughts quite clear,” the younger being stated slowly, his voice low and emotionless. “You would have me return to Asgard to do what you should be doing yourself.”

Loki grabbed what appeared to be a strip of frozen jerky from a crevice in the wall before turning back to him. The strip went into his mouth, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light of the cavern even as the rest of his visage remained impassive.

“No!” he interjected, fiercely. “I would never use you in that manner!”

The eyebrows raised sharply as arms crossed protectively over a bare blue chest. “Oh? But you would _use_ me?!”

“ _YES!_ ” he practically shouted emphatically. The action jerked his chest and he heaved, sucking in cool air before he coughed it out again.

Chilly hands pressed him back down against the furs. Seidr tingled against his chest and his breathing eased. “Careful,” his sibling chided firmly, “You’re still recovering, you idiot.”

He inhaled slowly, feeling his ribcage raise and lower with the hands still pressed against his pectoral muscles. Exhaustion pressed down on him once more, and he closed his eyes even as he wished he could keep his lids open to watch his sibling’s face. “I am an idiot,” he agreed, keeping his voice soft and low as sleep, no doubt induced by the Jotunn above him, took him.

_ _ _ _

He knew that he should return to Asgard but he enjoyed his time with Loki. The younger being opened up to him in ways that he had never experienced before, or had disappeared as he had been beaten into submission among the Aesir. It was as if he was seeing the being that he had been raised beside for the first time. In many ways, it was.

He had begun to realize, in his short time here, that he had never truly seen Loki. Not like this. His younger brother was usually quiet, hiding his abilities and intellect to conform to what was expected of an Aesir prince. The youngest child of Laufey, left to die from exposure, was not Aesir. His talents, born from his runt status, were surprisingly valued here among the Frost Giants. He had learned that on the third day of his stay (By his best guess. He had no idea how long he had slept).

It had been his first day up out of the bed of furs and his legs were stiff and sore because of it. He had been brought to the hot springs where he had enjoyed a warm bath. The sulfur-scented waters had reinvigorated his weary limbs but he’d risen from it anyway, knowing that he should at least offer to help his sibling about his comfortable little home in the ice.

“Thor,” his sibling stated, his voice flat and emotionless in an attempt to get his point across as his wiry arms crossed over his chest, “Stop. Rest. I can tend to the fire.”

He shook his head, bending over the primarily seidr flame and feeding more twigs and dried grasses into it from the stockpile beside it. “I wish to help, Loki,” he stated, rising even as he realized that there was very little he could truly help with. He didn’t know how to launder furs or even traditional cloth materials. He could wash dishes but his sibling had beaten him to the breakfast dishes. He was unaccustomed to cleaning in general and certainly couldn’t cook much. The Midgardian Captain had helped him learn how to make a simple breakfast, and he knew how to roast meat that he had killed with his barehands, but Loki wouldn’t have eaten much of anything he cooked anyway. He tended to like most things raw.

The younger being’s ruby eyes rolled, knowing full well that the sentiment was nice but unhelpful. “If you wish to help, rest. Odin All-Father will want you back in Asgard soon enough, dragging his adopted traitor of a son behind you.”

“I’d never do that,” he insisted, even as he sat down on a stool, watching the azure Jotunn amble about doing little chores just to keep himself busy in an attempt to avoid looking at him during what would, inevitably, be an uncomfortable conversation. 

“And yet you wish for me to return to Asgard,” Loki insinuated, leaning into the words, knowing that was exactly what he wanted.

“Not in chains,” he stammered, looking at his hands, “Never against your will.”

“Even if Odin charged you to do it? He _surely_ is aware that you are here. That you followed me. He’d be _very_ disappointed in his heir if he let a traitor walk free.”

The Jotunn wasn’t looking at him, his back to him as a means of defense against his emotions. Sighing, trying to get his point across to his brother with his fumbling tongue, he tried to tell Loki what he wished once more. “I am not our Father,” he stated, his voice low and even.

A curtain of ebony hair spun quickly, highlighting the world of colors that hid in the Jotunn’s skin and hair. “Odin is _not_ my father. I have no father!” Pearlescent teeth flashed as they snapped shut at the air. His ruby eyes bled into a terrifying and violent scarlet, making Loki look truly dangerous for the first time in their lives.

Taken aback and truly frightened, he stuttered, “I-I am sorry.”

“Prince Loki?”

A soft voice that he recognized cut the tension in the room, or, at least, shoved it back into the depths of their family disfunction.

“Ulfr!” Loki beamed, a switch flipped or a mask pulled down about his previously enraged features. He watched the Jotunn spin and pull back a sheet of ice to let the familiar form of the Jotunn child that had saved him from the snows, bringing him to his sibling’s doorstep.

“How is the Aesir, Uncle?” the child asked, eyeing him cautiously.

“Uncle?” The word slipped through his lips without his bidding, his fright still too close to check his words.

“Yes,” Loki said, cocking an eyebrow. “I have two brothers here in the Winter Realm. This is my brother, Prince Byleistr’s eldest child, Prince Ulfr.” The Jotunn clapped the child that was probably only a few centuries old on a shoulder that was even with his own. “This, Ulfr, is Prince Thor, my adopted brother from Asgard.”

The garnet eyes of the child waved atheism shyly. “Hello, Thunderer,” the little one muttered, awed and afraid despite their time together in the snows.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Ulfr,” he stated, giving the child a wave from across the room. “I am doing well, thanks to you.”

“What do you need?” his sibling asked expectantly, his attention diverted to the young prince.

“Uncle ‘Blindi is holding a council. He requests your presence.” The young Jotunn continued to eyeball him, unsure if he was giving anything away in the presence of what was his realm’s greatest enemy at one point in time.

Loki’s face became truly serious as he sprang into action, his jaw setting in determination as his brow furrowed over narrowed eyes. His hands grabbed a fur-trimmed cloak from a small icen hook by the invisible door and fastened it about his slim shoulders. “Lead on,” he stated, already opening the crevice to slip out from, “Best not keep the King waiting.”

“What about me?” he practically called at the retreating figures, rising from his stool by the small fire.

An ebony-haired head poked in once more, and briskly stated, “You can come, if you wish, but you will not be allowed in the council session.”

Interested in seeing more of the realm that his sibling had originated from and begun to call home, he pulled his own cloak about his shoulders and followed.

The cloak that his sibling had put about his own shoulders was quickly thrown about his, adding a necessary extra layer to the clothing and cloak that he already had on. “Come along, Thor,” the Jotunn stated, walking away briskly, his arms pulled about his thin torso, pulling at the silvery lines along his back until they caught the sun. _Have the Jotunn always contained so much color? Have they aways been so beautiful? Or am I seeing what my eyes wish me to see?_ he mused as he stumbled along, taking large strides that broke through the crusty ice layer on top of the snow in an attempt to catch up to the rapid Jotunn pair.

They were in conversation, their voices soft, obviously not paying the slightest attention to him.

“I am sure it is a commendation, Uncle!” Ulfr said brightly, his toothy grin splitting his large features with a child-like eagerness that betrayed his true age.

The ebony head shook once. “No. I have run out of usefulness and they know I am a traitor to those that took me in. They will want me gone.”

Large, garnet eyes developed crystalline droplets in their corners in a mere instant. The first tear fell freely as a thick lower lips trembled and a small voice mumbled, “Don’t say that, Uncle. Bearer wouldn’t do that to you; neither would Uncle ‘Blindi. They love you.”

Loki smiled sadly, his eyes flashing back to meet his own for the briefest moment before finding those of his nephew once more. “Love is an interesting thing, Little One. Someday, you will discover the many facets of that particular emotion, but it will not be today. Today, revel in the knowledge that the love you have for your family and your family has for you is unwavering and unending.”

The bald head nodded even as the child remained silent, his gaze dropping to the snow before his feet.

Their trek across what appeared to be barren land lasted another long hour and was only made longer by the silence. His own blundering feet, crashing through layers of undisturbed snow, broke it at regular intervals but it did not shake the Jotunn pair from their contemplations. It made him worry, thinking about Loki and how he seemed to know what would be said before he had even been presented before the King of Winter. _But there has been many a time in our youth when he has known what our Father - my Father - would say before it passed his lips. Does he possess the gift of foresight or premonition, like Mother? Or am I that blind to the situations that we have found ourselves in?_

His thoughts chased each other about his head like a pair of hounds and they beat back the discomfort he felt as he walked behind the princes of Jotunnheim, his toes and fingers tingling with cold.

Eventually, his thoughts were interrupted by a long shadow. It had been cold before in the distant and dim sunlight but it was freezing beneath the shadow and he stopped with a start, looking up.

Above him, looming like a jagged tooth from the landscape, was a pillar. Beyond it stood an eclectic array of what could only be classified as buildings. Some were squat, one story buildings that stood less than twenty-feet high with small windows and large front doors. There were storefronts with thin, ice pane windows revealing their goods of surprisingly bright colors. There were taller buildings, several stories in the air with round windows and what seemed to be flowerbeds planted below them. The variety was refreshing and surprising.

“Uncle Loki helped to rebuild the city when he came with the Casket,” Ulfr stated over his shoulder, his proud smile evident. “Utgard was in ruins before and now, we have rebuilt and are rebuilding our industry. Uncle Loki saved us from extinction. Truly.”

He watched his sibling flush under the praise, unused to it. Silently, he vowed to acknowledge his younger sibling’s contributions more going forward. Ulfr was right. Loki had saved his people and that would eternally place his true siblings and their people in his debt.

“You should be proud, Loki. This city - it is an accomplishment! Beautiful and eclectic - Just like the Jotunn people,” he stated, his own proud smile joining that of the young Jotunn.

“If only the All-Father saw it like that,” Loki muttered darkly, his eyes narrowing. “As you’ve said, Thor: I am a traitor to Asgard for saving the Monsters of Winter.”

Ulfr did not take kindly to that statement, his brow furrowing and his lips pulling into a pout. “We are not monsters. The Aesir are monsters. They attack and kill and steal, keeping the heart of our realm in their Golden Realm, and wonder why we fight to survive, why we feel like we must attack to gain small victories.” The child shot him an accusatory glance before focusing once more on the path ahead.

The words punched through his gut, twisting his mind in a way that he had never experienced. He had never considered that what his troops did effected more than the glory of Asgard. That there were people that had to live in the destruction he wrought. That he left desolation in his wake. That he was not only feared for his prowess on the battlefield but also on the destruction he wrought.

Inhaling shakily, well aware of the blue faces that looked at him through thin panes of ice or around the corners of recently constructed buildings, he breathed, “The consequences of my actions, and the actions of Asgard, have never been presented to me before. I-I am sorry…I know that is not enough…to say that…” His voice drifted off into nothingness, his breath creating puffs of air in the cold climate.

The young Jotunn turned and gave him a small smile before refocusing forward. The action made him feel a bit better, but not much. There was, quite obviously, more that he needed to do for his apology and to make the proper amends. _With Loki’s input and aid, I will strive to do just that. Mother is right: I am not my father. I will make things right._

Their small entourage reached the center of the blooming city and the tallest building within it: the palace. It was not nearly as stream-lined as the palace of Asgard, nor nearly as large. It made sense, considering that there were over a hundred rooms within the halls of Asgard that were empty and unused. Jotunheim was rebuilding and didn’t need the grandiose scale of a frankly outlandishly enormous palace in order to flourish and prosper.

A pair of Jotunn Berserkers inclined their heads respectfully as Loki and Ulfr passed beneath their gaze and through the doors that they had pulled opened. As he entered the palace, the pair eyed him suspiciously from on high, well aware that he was Aesir and probably aware of exactly who he was. And what he had done to them and their people. Humbly, learning from his time among the Midgardians, he bowed his head beneath their deep red gaze and made his way into the hall.

“I’m afraid that the Odinson is not permitted to go further,” a deep rumbling voice stated from above him.

He looked up before quickly dropping into a kneel, his fist over his heart. The being before him was Helblindi, King of Winter. His gaze was hard and calculating and his mouth was set, making it quite clear that the ruler of the realm was not pleased to see him there.

“Apologies, King Helblindi,” he stated, trying to mask the sudden nervousness that the tremble in his voice conveyed, “I shall remain here, until Prince Loki returns.”

The large, noble head gave him one sharp nod before turning his back to him and moving further back into the palace. His sibling followed, giving him a small smile over his shoulder before falling into step with his much larger brother.

“There is a bench over here, Prince Thor,” Ulfr said, still giving him that awkward smile that he didn’t quite know how to process, “Come, sit.”

The child tugged him to the side with a large, cold hand on his upper arm. Well aware that he was on display even as he was only with the youngest prince of Jotunnheim, he resisted hissing at the initial contact. As he stumbled to sit, the pain grew, like a burn, and he was grateful when the child let go. His skin was a dark, angry red - almost purple - with cold and in the shape of Ulfr’s hand. He was grateful that he hadn’t been Touched but the contact still smarted.

“I’m sorry, Lord Thor,” the child mumbled, his eyes focused on the dark skin.

He brushed the child’s worry away with a hand. “Do not fret, Prince Ulfr. It will heal with a bit of time and some salve. I’ve been injured far worse than a simple touch.” He smiled at the young Jotunn. He sighed, unsure of what to talk about with the child. “Do you have a favorite food?”

The ruby eyes blinked at him almost dumbly, the muscles of his face relaxing in shock. “Any food,” the prince murmured, turning his head to look at his hands. “I have known hunger. Prosperity has come slowly and recently. I am sure that I will enjoy certain foods when I have the choice laid before me.”

As the words washed over him, Thor realized that he had lost all sense of connection with the common populace. “My sibling enjoys iced cream. I am sure that he will share it with Jotunnheim, in time.”

The youngling blinked at him once more, obviously not knowing what the sweet treat was much less why Loki enjoyed it. “I should like that, Prince Thor,” Ulfr stated slowly.

The silence stretched between them once more, making him squirm on the chilly ice bench.

The prince beside him mumbled, “I wish to ask you something, Thunderer, but I do not want to incur your wrath…”

His brow furrowed, surprised by the child’s statement. “Ask away, Prince Ulfr. You will not anger me by simply asking.”

The Jotunn gave him a little smile before diverting his eyes once more to his large hands. “Why do the Aesir hate us?”

He sucked in a quick burst of chilly air. The statement was like a punch to the gut. The child was astute and had seen so much in his short life. While he was third in line for the throne, the only child of the second in line for the throne, he was surprisingly astute and would obviously be involved in the administration once he came of age.

“You are wise, Prince Ulfr,” he stated, measuring his words, “Far beyond your years.” He played with his hands, twirling his thumbs around themselves as he gathered his thoughts. “To be honest with you, I am unsure as to why the feud between our peoples started - it seems to draw back to the dawn of time. It was said that the Jotunn and Aesir were birthed from the Universe itself as brothers. Brothers, from my experience, fight, whether good natured or not. They fought for power; they fought for land; they fought for recognition. They fought until all they knew was fighting.”

“I’ve wanted a sibling,” the little boy stated, smiling shyly at him before diverting his gaze to the floor. “Maybe not now. I don’t like fighting.”

He couldn’t help but smile, recalling his own childhood and his siblings. “Ah, but your siblings will always have your back. Mine certainly have.”

“Even thought Uncle Loki ran away from home and stole the Casket back?”

The question was innocent enough but it woke feelings that he was trying to suppress. Heat rushed to his cheeks and he released a rather flabbergasted sigh. “Loki is…Loki. He is indefinable…”

He could feel the focused eyes of the young prince on his features, no doubt noting his blush. He wished he could express the reason why his sibling evoked emotions in him that no one else did.

“I feel a strange connection with Loki,” he breathed, smiling into his hands as he tried to hide his deeper emotions. “I wish I could tell you what it was.”

“Is he your Mate?” the child breathed, awed by the prospect.

His brow furrowed and he met the large garnet eyes for the first time since their conversation began. The wide-eyed youthful belief on his ridged face made him chuckle even as he asked, “What do you mean by Mate? My spouse?!”  
The bald head nodded, a goofy grin steering itself across his broad features. “Like my Sire and Bearer.”

“I-I…,” he stammered, not knowing how to respond. _Is that not the reason why I’m here? Is that not the reason why I have chased Loki now that I have found him?_ He swallowed. “We were raised as brothers…”

Ulfr’s brow furrowed. “But you’re not. Uncle Loki says that he is not Odinson but Laufeyson. You are not brothers. Not any more.”

“You’re right,” he breathed a wave of relief washing over him, stress and worry that he hadn’t even realized that he was carrying melted away. “My Father has declared him Laufeyson himself, as has Helbindi, King of Winter.”

The goofy smile was back on the young Jotunn’s face. “Then you can take Uncle Loki to Mate. You can save Jotunnheim!”

He ran his hands through his hair, tugging a bit at the tendrils. He looked at the deep red eyes with an amount of respect that he had not expected to allot to one that was so young. “You are wise beyond your years, do you know that?” he queried, smiling at the child.

_ _ _ _

The walk through the snows in the deepening dusk was one of an awkward and heavy silence. The whistling winds brought a bit of sound to the silence as did the crunch of his booted footsteps. Loki’s unnatural silence had started at the palace as he told him to bid his nephew farewell and headed straight out the massive doors. In an attempt to catch up to the younger being, he had stumbled over his words and his feet, no doubt making a spectacle before the Jotunn as he rushed out after the runt.

Now, as the dim sun set, his lack of Jotunn skin was making him slowly freeze. His fingers were lacking feeling beyond pinpricks and his toes had gone numb. The landscape, now that they were out of the revitalized city, had become only mounds of snow and stray crags of rocks. Worry about making it back to the Jotunn’s little cavern had set in along with the knowledge that something was really bothering Loki.

It wasn’t that his once-brother was never quiet - he was often quiet. It was that his quiet carried a darkness and a heaviness that he had never sensed with his usually calculating and mischievous sibling. Of course, his worry about the Jotunn kept him from dwelling too much on his own thoughts and the fears that came with them.

“We’re nearly there,” Loki called over his shoulder, barely looking at him before plowing ahead.

“Good,” he shouted back, “Because I am sure that I am losing my fingers and toes to the Jotunnheim winter!”

He heard a brief and humorless chuckle drift back on the wind, making his stomach clench. _Something is really bothering Loki and he’s trying to hide it…_ Wondering briefly if he should ask his not-sibling to address it, he bit his tongue. It would be better to speak on it when he had regained feeling in his toes.

After a couple more minutes of crashing through the icy snow, the small Frost Giant stopped before a sheet of ice and pulled it back just a bit to reveal a warm glow behind it. The slim azure being stepped though the gap, leaving it open for him.

He stumbled through the door and heard it seal behind him. The sudden warmth stung and his teeth began to chatter in response. A fur was thrown towards him and he threw it about his shoulders and over his head in an attempt to stop the chill that seemed to be creeping into his bones.

“You are not built for Jotunnheim,” the younger being stated, his eyes focused on the emerald flame of his seidr-fueled fire pit. A purposeful tendril of seidr escaped his fingertips and caused the flames to roar higher for a moment.

“No,” he stated through his chattering teeth, “I am not.” He paused, watching how the Jotunn continued to ignore him, his broad, bare back to him. “But I came here without stopping to gather my warmest winters. I will be better prepared in the future.”

The ebony head shook even as Loki remained silent.

Rubbing his arms fiercely, he sat on the pile of furs that functioned as the Jotunn’s bed. “What is bothering you, Loki?” he asked, keeping his voice even and soft, not wanting to frighten the being off. “You’ve been unsettled since you got out of the council meeting.”

The cobalt expanse before him stiffened. “I do not wish to talk about it, Thor,” his younger sibling gritted out through obviously clenched teeth.

“Okay,” he murmured, taken aback by the lashing he’d just received. _He’s obviously very upset…_ “I like Ulfr,” he said brightly, changing the subject. “He reminds me of you: very astute and highly intelligent. He sees things that I thought no one else saw.”

The Jotunn continued to busy himself, setting a pot over the flames and throwing bones, skin, and fat into it with some snow in preparation for a rich broth. He watched as the vestiges of the meals they had consumed previously were boiled down into a bubbling liquid.

The process took hours and the silence stretched between them, heating toward a boiling point. Eventually, his not-brother pulled the remaining bones from the pot and threw raw pieces of elk and thick cubes of some unknown root vegetable into the soup. His seidr set a wooden spoon stirring the pot as a knife began to thinly slice a thick crusted bread.

“Can I do anything?” he asked warily. “I have done little to help you over these last few days.”

Wide ruby eyes flashed at him, filled with rage that surprised him. His fangs, a stark, white in contrast to his dark skin, flashed like those of a feral animal. “You’ve _never_ helped me! _Never!_ _Why start now_?!”

His own eyes widened, afraid of his once-sibling for the second time that day. “I only thought-”

“Oh. You’re _thinking_ now?!” Hands were thrown out mockingly as Loki scanned the area and pronounced, “Attention, Everyone! _Prince Thor_ is _thinking_ and would _love_ to have his input heard!” Narrow, slitted eye the same shade of blood focused on him like a tiger closing in for a kill. His voice dropped to a low hiss. “ _I’m waiting_.”

He gulped, terrified of continuing along the same conversation pathway. Inhaling slowly in an attempt to calm himself, he gathered his thoughts, well aware of the vulture-like eyes that had yet to blink as they traced his features. “I do not know how to say what I wish to…,” he started haltingly.

The eyes blinked but did not lose a bit of their fire. “Just _say_ it, Oaf.”

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he did just what his disowned sibling asked. “I love you, Loki. I want to bring you home. Mother and Balder and Nanna are shadows of themselves without you. They love you, too-”

“And what about the declaration of Odin against me? How I am to be found and brought to him in chains?” The eyes, red as fresh blood, had opened slightly, curiosity peaking through. “How is anyone’s _love_ going to save me from a traitor’s fate? A stay in the dungeons, maybe, where I’ll whither and die in solitary? Or, better for me, a quick execution?”

Unable to stop himself, he rose quickly and moved to the slighter being. He gripped the thin, cool shoulders and gave the Jotunn a shake. “I _LOVE_ you, Loki! You can stay in Asgard, by my side, ruling _with_ me, become Odinson once more!”

The shoulders he was holding pulled away and he was hit in the face by flying hair. The tendrils stung like bits of ice. Reaching out desperately, he grasped blindly at a thin wrist. “Don’t run away, Loki. Listen to me. Please!”

“Why?!” The animal was back, unhappy to be caged and lashing out because of it. He released the wrist.

“Because I want you to be happy! I want our family to be whole! And I want Jotunnheim and Asgard to be brothers again! We can do that, Loki! Only we can do that.”

“What is this? Another ‘marry Loki off and stuff his quim full of children’ scheme?” the Jotunn shouted, his eyes revealing his terror. “I am _not_ interested in being wed! I don’t care if it’s you, or Odin, or my brothers! No one seems to care what I want!”

“And what do you want, Loki?” he shouted back, unable to stop himself from joining the fight, getting in his not-brother’s face once more but not touching him. “Tell me! I will help you achieve it!”

The ridged face fell into a shocked confusion that surprised him. “I-I don’t know,” the younger being stammered, “I-I don’t know what I want. No one’s ever-ever asked me what I’ve wanted before.”

“I am asking you now - and I swear that I will ask every day - and I will help you get what you want.”

The promise hung between them, lightening the air even as it hung there heavily. He watched silent tears cut icy trails that caught on Loki’s ridges, hanging there like diamonds. It was beautiful and his fingers itched to catch them before they fell onto the stone floor. Instead, he waited, knowing that Loki would eventually break the silence.

“Why?”

The question was quiet and hesitant, very unlike his usually cool and confident sibling.

“Because, being without you these last five years has been terrible. I need you beside me, Loki, and Ulfr, in his wisdom, reminded me that, while we were raised as brothers, we are not. You have been claimed and proclaimed as Laufeyson, so I can act on the feelings that have been blooming since-” He paused, flushing crimson to his ears. “Well, since I gifted you Brandari. He misses you, by the way.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck once more. “Come home, Loki. Be my husband. Rule Asgard and preserve peace with Jotunnheim.”

“That is what my brothers would certainly like.” The eyebrows rose, trying to put on the air of confidence that the Jotunn was so frequently clothed in. “Apparently, they only had to speak with you. Or maybe they sent Ulfr to do it. As you say, he is a bright child.”

The Thunderer dropped his gaze and stepped back, aware that, while Loki didn’t have an idea of what he wanted, he was making it quite clear that he didn’t want him. That he didn’t want to be with him. He didn’t love him in the way that he loved him, as new and as strange as those newly released emotions were.

“I am sorry,” he began, his eyes focused on the floor, “I cannot control what I feel nor the fact that you make me better, but I will not bring it up again.”

The ebony head shook. “I didn’t say that,” the runt stated slowly, as if tasting each word that passed through his lips. “I may not know what I want but I do wish to see Mother again, to speak of seidr with Nanna, to play Mār with Balder, to ride Brandari once more. I don’t want to feel like I’m looking over my shoulder for when Odin comes to drag me back in chains. I want to _survive_ , Thor. And, if this marriage continues to protect my true people, giving them a future, I will wed you.”

“You make it sound like wedding me is a duty performed out of a sense of obligation,” he murmured, feeling hurt. “I don’t want you to agree to spend forever with me because you’re being forced to by Odin’s proclamation, your brothers’ command, or because you pity me. I want you to live beside me because you wish to. If not, I’ll leave. I’ll ask Heimdall to take me away and you can spend your life here, in peace.”

He piece said, he sighed heavily. He couldn’t look at Loki any more, feeling as if he’d bared his heart to the other being and gotten nothing in return. He wanted Loki to return to Asgard with him but he didn’t want to feel like the man had been forced.

A heavy sigh beside him told him that his host was lost in a quagmire of thoughts. A thinly fingered azure hand reached into his view, grabbing his knee with afierce squeeze. No words were uttered, but he could almost feel the desperation in the grip, like he was rooting the Jotunn to the world.

“I don't have a choice, Thor.” Loki’s voice was so soft that a slight breeze would have blown it from his ears before he could hear it. “My King commands it. Due to my size, I am the only marriage alliance option that they have and they will use me to do that. Jotunnheim needs the Casket and an alliance with Asgard. A peace hostage situation, as it were, would give them the means to keep the Heart of the Realm.”

“Why does it sound like Helblindi’s words leaving your lips?” he asked, his own voice just as soft. “I want to hear from Loki, not the King of Winter.”

The hand on his knee pushed off of his leg and retreated from his downturned gaze. “You will not hear from Loki. Loki has no input in his life. The last time Loki made a decision, he was called a traitor, so he will remain quiet on this matter.” The younger being’s voice gained strength as he moved off into the cavern, bustling about in meal preparation, abruptly ending his side of their conversation.

Loki’s words truly hurt. None of them were directed at himself but they made his heart ache nonetheless. The Jotunn’s lack of care for his own thoughts and his lack of awareness of his own emotions was terrible to hear. Especially when he held the younger being in such high regard. _Always so observant of everyone except himself_ , he noted, watching his once-brother as he bustled about through the heavy air of the little cavern.

_ _ _ _

The following morning, he woke to find Loki sleeping beside him. His features were relaxed, making him realize that he hand’t seen Loki without the wrinkle between his eyes or a frown on his visage in a while. Years, even prior to his fleeing from Asgard. He was beautiful and his heart ached at the sight of him lying there so peacefully.

They had not spoken again after the discussion the previous evening, eating in silence before he’d retired to bed. Loki had continued to putter about, a mage light illuminating the manuscripts and pages that he seemed quite intent on reading that very moment. For the few minutes that he watched the Jotunn, the light illuminating the purple and violet undertones of his prism-like skin as his usually tidy hair fell across his face, he was reminded of the times that he found the younger being in the library in the late hours of the evening, when sunrise was still hours away.

Now, as he looked at the ethereal being lying beside him on the pile of furs and felt a rush of gratitude that the Jotunn had decided to fall asleep beside him, face to face. Previous evenings had found Loki curled on the floor like a dog, giving him the bed in its entirety. Waking to find him beside him, facing him, his heartbeat increased and he could feel his face flush.

“Stop looking at me, Thor,” the Jotunn grumbled, throwing an arm over his face in an attempt to hide it.

“You are beautiful in the morning,” he murmured, wanting to brush some of the lush, thick ebony hair from his features.

“I am hideous in the morning, just like everyone else,” his not-brother muttered, rolling out of the bed and puttering off to the springs to bathe.

“No,” he breathed to the empty cavern, closing his eyes and remembering his not-sibling just moments before as a striking canvas of cobalt, silver, and ebony, “You’re not.”

Rolling from the pile of furs, he scrubbed his face with his hands as he sat on the edge. The floor beneath his bare feet was cool and used that chill to push himself from the bed and out towards the hot springs. He knew that he would not find Loki there, seeing as the Jotunn rarely indulged in heat, and had a brief moment of sadness rush through him. _Loki needs to decide. I cannot keep thinking he’s mine. He hasn’t told me his feelings and I cannot force him to love me. He should not be forced to do anything._

He raced to the springs, the Winter trying to latch onto the marrow in his bones during his brief time outside with the thick fur about his shoulders doing little to waylay the chill. The water almost burned his flesh by contrast and he slid into it with a sharp hiss. His limbs soon adjusted to the blistering heat and quickly set to work scrubbing his flesh until it was rosy with a bit of his sibling’s homemade soap. He scraped his fingers through his hair, tugging a bit at the tangles before dunking his head under the sulfur-laced waters. Due to the frigid temperatures, he braced himself before hoisting his fit frame from the pool and wrapping his already shivering body into his fur. Teeth chattering, he raced through the snow and into the cavern once more.

The Jotunn was there, ready with a warm mug of tea and a plate of warmed and roasted venison steaks. “Breakfast?” the man asked, thrusting the items into his hands before turning his back once more.

“Loki!” he exclaimed, his frost-coated fur dropping from his hands to catch the flying plate and mug, revealing his chilled body to the slightly warmed air of the cavern.

“What?” the younger being snapped, turning to face him once more. Ruby eyes widened, no doubt noticing his slightly fractious member as it bloomed from the thick nest of curly dirty blonde pubic hair and curved a bit towards his sculpted abs. Still juggling the plate and cup, he tried to cover himself with little success, flushing a deep red. His eyes remained fixed on his not-brother, watching him lick his thin lips almost hungrily and his pupils dilate. _He feels at least some attraction towards me_ , he smiled secretly to himself.Rearranging his cup to cover himself, he inhaled shakily and steadied himself to say his piece. “Thanks for caring for me, Loki, but I’ve been here long enough. I’ve decided to return to Asgard today…I will not tell the All-Father that you are here.” He kept his voice low and even, even as he could feel his embarrassment and, surprisingly, lust, growing with each breath. “I have invaded your life for long enough.”

The azure being’s mouth opened slightly, his ebony brow knitting. “I do not wish for you to leave, Thor…I enjoy being with you…It is…what I want.” The ruby eyes shone with an inner light that he had never seen there before. Loki took a step closer, taking the opposite edge of the plate the he held. Slowly, the Jotunn rose up on his toes, leaned over the plate, and captured his lips gingerly.

The cool lips fit his perfectly, moving in perfect sync with his own. The plate of food clattered the the floor as did the mug of tea. The liquid splashed up onto his leg and he felt the sharp Jotunn teeth nip his lower lip as it’s hot contents, no doubt, hit Loki’s as well. Cold hands, refreshing, unlike the ice they were living in, ran up and down his torso, teasing his very naked flesh before his hands wrapped about his back, pulling him closer.

Loki moaned, burying his head into the crook of his neck as he panted, his sensitive ridges over-stimulated by the golden hair that sprouted from his chest. Claws, short and sharp prickled along his back, making him grind into the only scrap of clothing between them: the Jotunn’s linen loincloth. Through the fabric, he could feel that the other being’s interest had been peaked and was growing harder by the minute. “Loki,” he moaned, loving the contrast between the cool lips and the warm breath and hot tongue on his neck. The groan earned him a playful nip from the Jotunn’s sharp teeth along the thick tendon on the side of his throat. “Norns!”

“Thor,” the younger being replied, his smile pressed into his skin, “Is there something you wish to say?” The cool fingers continued to tease him, slowly wrapping around his member, squeezing it before stroking it languidly to full attention.

Unable to say anything, his simply groaned, his fingers sliding beneath the loincloth to cup the pert cheeks beneath, drawing them closer together as his thumbs played along the curving ridges there. The linen was pushed down, leaving the Jotunn just as bare as he was and, for the first time in a while, he felt complete.

_ _ _ _

He couldn’t help but smile as the brilliance of Asgard hit his face. The gilded buildings and Rainbow Bridge shone with a promise that he couldn’t help but embrace. After all, his fingers held the cool, long fingers of the Jotunn interlaced between his own. He tightened his grip momentarily, turning to look at the striking azure features beside him. Grinning, he noticed that Loki did not share his jovial attitude or expression.

“Everything will be fine,” he stated, confidence imbuing every word, his smiled broadening.

Scarlet eyes blinked back at him with trepidation, the thin lips were set. “There is no guarantee of that,” his voice murmured, low and worried. His ruby eyes scanned their surroundings, taking everything in through narrowed eyes.

As they looked out at the Golden Realm, a regiment of Einherjar advanced on them, their armor gleaming and shining in the sun. He glanced back at his lover, feeling the rising fear rolling off the calm exterior of the handsome Jotunn. His navy lips twitched up briefly before he glanced back at him once more. “If this is my final free breath, I am glad I am with you.”

“Loki,” he breathed, “Don’t speak like that.”

The Einharjar were closing ground, moving closer and closer like a well-oiled machine. Halting only feet before them, their leader, General Tyr, pulled his charger front and center, his face grim. “Welcome home, Prince Thor,” the esteemed general stated, inclining his head respectfully.

Unable to stop himself, he inclined his head back to the older man. “General Tyr,” he stated, “I am surprised to find you welcoming us home. This has never happened before.”

The man’s hard eyed darted over to the Jotunn beside him. “The Laufeyson is not in chains, I see,” the general stated, his voice even and nonjudgemental even as his eyebrow cocked. He waved a pair of soldiers forward, not breaking eye contact with the Jotunn. “Seize him.”

“No!” he cried, trying to push Loki behind him. The Jotunn pushed back and stepped back in front of him, not allowing him to defend him against the All-Father’s will.

“I will go, Thor,” he hissed before repeating it louder, striding, wrists offered, towards the waiting Einherjar, “I will go.”

“Loki,” he murmured, shaking his head as he watched the soldiers - men they had both served beside for centuries - unnecessarily wrestle the thin being into seidr-suppressing cuffs. As they napped closed, he watched Loki’s proud shoulders slump, the loss of his seidr causing him to collapse. They dragged the now drained sorcerer to Tyr where Loki glowered at the man proudly from his crumpled position.

He took a step forward to help the Jotunn, to support him only to be gently pushed back by Fandral who shook his blonde head. His friend and shield companion was only trying to protect him, the both of them, but the action hurt, feeling like a betrayal.

“Tell me, _Traitor_ , where is the Casket?” the general glowered, his visage taking on a superior air, his glare looking down his nose at the blue being.

Sharp, white teeth were his response, a snarl ripping from Loki’s chest. “Somewhere safe. Besides, _General_ , the Casket is not your concern. You have your criminal: bring me to Odin Borson. I wish to have words with the All-Father.”

The dark chuckle from the leading general sent a chill down his spine. “You have no right to demand anything, Traitor-”

“See,” Loki interjected, raising a finger in his defense, grinning up at the old man on the antsy war charger, “That is where you are wrong, General. I am recognized as Laufeyson by King Helblindi of the Winter Realm. I was sent here by the King of Jotunnheim to forge a lasting peace. Odin cannot ignore a foreign dignitary in his halls unless he plans to bring war to Asgard.”

Tyr’s nostrils flared, not pleased to learn that, while losing his status as Odinson, he had been recognized as the son of Odin’s greatest enemy and placed in line for a foreign throne. Not only that, but he had been sent back to Asgard to solidify peace. The man’s dark eyes glowered before he glanced at the two soldiers that held the Jotunn between them. “Bring him. The All-Father will see to this _beast_ when he has time, prince or no,” he commanded, a vile smirk on his lips.

The Thunderer tried to push his way forward, reassure the being he loved, tell him that he wouldn’t be captive for long. He easily brushed Fandral’s half-hearted restraint off and stride forward. The General, however, saw through his quick forward motion and urged his charger between him and the bound azure being. Trying his best to hide his growing anger even as thunder rolled above him in the quickly gathering storm clouds, he set his jaw and eyed the man that had come between him and the Jotunn prince. “Remember, General, that your prisoner is _Prince_ Loki Laufeyson. I would not gloat, if I were you,” he hissed through his teeth.

An eyebrow raised even as the rest of his face remained unchanged. “And you should remember, Heir of Odin, that it is death to tempt the wrath of the All-Father,” the general responded, “Regardless of your position.”

Unable to retort the older man, he watched him turn his charger and head back down the Bifrost. The Rainbow Bridge’s light was dimming as the sun was blotted out by the gathering storm. His anger and fear stirred the rumbling thunder into a roar before his eyes and over his head. The first pitter patter of large raindrops began to splatter on the glassy surface around him, bouncing and pinging like the little metal bullets that the Midgardians were so fond of. He let it come, alerting all of Asgard to his return and his unhappiness at the disservice that he and his once-brother had been dealt.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there will be a third part to this series. In true OkieDokieLoki fashion, I won't post it until I'm done writing and editing it to my satisfaction. As always, thanks so much for reading and for you support!   
> ~OkieDokieLoki


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